Bye Bye, Comrade Mugabe

It is another dark day for the African continent. Another fallen hero. The last hero that we will ever see for years to come. The demise of President Mugabe reminds me of the painful losses we have suffered in the past. The death of President Ghaddafi. The end of President Sankara. The death of Patrice Lumumba. The demise of Kwame Nkurumah. True Pan-Africanists. True fighters for and liberators of their people. True defenders of the African continent. Visionaries. Legends. They were brought down by Western greed and capitalism. Tears roll down my eyes.
 
 We have seen leaders come and go. Nobody has been brave enough to solve the land question in Africa as Mugabe did. It is disheartening that the African remains colonized today in his own country. Look at South Africa. Look at Kenya. The descendants of colonialists are the significant owners of lands in these countries. Yet, praises of Mandela and Jomo Kenyatta are sung everywhere- leaders who lacked the steel needed to free the African man from western domination.
 
 Observing BBC, I am almost inclined to smash my TV to pieces. The level of name-bashing and propaganda against Mugabe is unimaginable. What moral authority does a colonialist have to speak about an African liberator? Our African liberator. They raped our lands and left them in a dilapidated state; they allocated our resources to their descendants, whom they bullied us into allowing to live freely in our countries. Yet they frustrate our brothers who live in their countries, honest, hardworking, and hopeful people who move to their countries to soil their hands and toil their lands to give them greatness. Yet, no dime of appreciation.
 
 The white race is the pure race; that is what they believe. They brand those who attempt to challenge this fallacy as despots, tyrants, autocrats, and much more. It is no surprise. That's the essence of capitalism-greed. It was expressed in the early days of Mugabes, Lumumbas, Machels, and Nyereres as colonialism and today as imperialism and neocolonialism. The savagery of white capitalism lies in its wild belief in survival of the fittest; the most inhumane notion or idea ever developed by man. That is why, for centuries, they have labelled Africans backward, weak, and unintelligent- just because we are humans. Just because our Mugabe, Ghaddafi, Kwame, Sankara, and Lumumba were human. They were leaders who stood with the African people after centuries of slavery and colonialism. We know them as heroes. We respect them. Our belief in our humanity and strength as African people cannot fade away, even if we are a few.
 
 They talk about economics. About the performance of Zimbabwe's economy under Mugabe. Is it Mugabe that placed economic sanctions on his country? Was it not bullies that tied down the growth of a vibrant nation under an energetic and focused Pan-African leader? After shamefully and illegally amassing wealth by exploiting our generous and kindhearted forefathers, they use it today to bully us through sanctions. They use it to instigate divisions and civil strife throughout the African continent. Who profits from the wars in Congo? Who profits from the violence in the oil-rich Niger Delta? Who profits from the wars in the greater Sudan? Who benefits from the "xenophobic" attacks in South Africa?


  No. You will not soil Mugabe's impeccable reputation. What moral standards do colonialists, imperialists, and economic terrorists have to discuss our Mugabe? Mugabe is impeccable. There is no man alive that does not sin. Whatever Mugabe's weaknesses were, he did much better and greater things for the African continent than any other leader today.
 
 I focus on the liberation of Zimbabwe from the shackles of our white colonial masters. Zimbabwe is the only African nation that is closer to ever-elusive freedom. I pray Mnangagwa remembers that. I chose to focus on the provision of Zimbabwe's land to the many landless Zimbabweans. I prefer to focus on the fight against neocolonialism and imperialism still gripping the African continent today. I focus on principles and ideals that show the African people can stand against white colonial bullies even in the face of sanctions and poverty. I choose to be proud to have lived in the time of one of the very few African legends.
 
 Rest in peace, comrade Mugabe.

My Beloved

It’s been a while, But I haven’t missed her.

My flower, though miles away, 
Is every step I take, 
With me always, deep in my heart,

mind, and soul's part.

Peace I feel at, When I hear her voice sweet,

telling she misses meat, my heart skips a beat,

My nerves halt, For her alone.

Our lone time, I hold and cuddle her,

Like a pillow tight, I feel her warm curves,

Her pink thighs, real soft and tender, 
Her body, a site of wonder

Her saliva, tastes like butter. .

I’m afraid of dark, she changes that,

When I’m with Pat, I can step out,

she is my man, she is my sun,

She lights my world, she provides life.

It’s dark outside, stars up the sky,

My mind, comes my lover’s eyes,

Dark and white, like night and street light,

I know I shall die, observing my lover’s eyes.

Roll One

 Chwa found Bandia sitting on the concrete slabs that formed the stairway for the door leading into the house. Bandia's eyes were red, comprehensive, and lazy, indicating that he had taken some puffs of weed. They greeted each other with a moderate meeting of fists, and then Chwa sat beside his brother. After staring at the empty vicinity momentarily, Chwa began, "Bandia, it's time I started taking weed. I used to think I could pass this tough life with a sober mind, but now I feel it has stretched me to my limits. I feel downtrodden. I need something that can energize me. I need something that can make me active again. Nothing is happening in my life. It's as if someone buried my luck in an abyss."

Bandia smiled sceptically at his innocent older brother. Then he responded, "weed does not energize or activate people the way you think. It makes time pass quickly and abnormally indulges you in an activity. It makes farmers till without noticing this scorching afternoon sun. It makes unemployed youths like me sit and sleep around the whole day without minding our houses' unkempt and stuffy nature. It makes dreamers float on cloud nine for the next couple of hours, thinking their lives are better than ours."

"Don't give me that crap bro. Then why do you keep taking it? By the way, I forgot to tell you that Mose came here looking for you yesterday evening. We sat in my house for an hour but you never came."

Bandia laughed softly and replied, "Mose was looking for that thing that you also desperately want. 

 "Ever since I gave him a roll of Manu's high-grade marijuana, he has been nagging me for more rolls, yet I don't sell them. He is losing his senses because of weed now. Can't he understand that I am no dealer. I have no rolls waiting for him on demand. I'll refer him to Brayo. He is the new dealer on the block."

 "Weed is usually something else. See Mose now. A good kid has gone bad. He was always busy taking care of his animals. Now all he thinks of is weed. You are a bad influence Bandia," they both laughed as Chwa ended the statement.

Bandia continued thoughtfully, "Do you recall when Manu came here desperately looking for me?"

"Yes, I do. That day he almost met the lioness. Lucky was he. Had mother opened the gate, he would be dead by now."

"Nonsense," Bandia disagreed, "Manu is a good orator. I am sure he would have calmed mother's calamitous spirit that doesn't want friends looking for me."

Chwa laughed off that comment and then argued, "Have you forgotten that even Mose is also a good speaker? Did he withstand the torrents of mother's angry words and loud reverberating voice? His calmness and composure disappeared. He had to run bananas out of the narrow corridor before mother's anger consumed him. Manu is not different."

"True," Bandia concurred. Then he added, "that day, Manu came to ask me to be his dealer in this area. I rejected his offer. 

"I cannot believe that Manu is this serious about dealing in weed. He has turned that business into a profession." 

 The two brothers laughed riotously at Bandia's statement, dreading that this miserable life had turned Manu, a graduate, into a drug peddler.

After a moment, they stopped their laughter. Chwa continued the conversation. 

 "You wanted to do the business too, but we stopped you. It is hard to believe that you had bought marijuana seeds and was planting them in the backyard." 

Disheartened by that memory, Bandia responded, "you people are only good at timidity and killing dreams. I could be reaping my harvest and making muller now. Unfortunately, I let your fears grip me and stop me from engaging in this promising venture. Wait a few years and see where Manu will be."

Then Bandia hopefully added, "Musa told me he planted some of seeds I gave him in Nyawita. I hope he is not lying to me. I should visit the farm and confirm if it's true. As for now, I'll focus on this poultry and hope that I have a decent number of chickens for sale by December."

"All will be well." Chwa responded empathetically. Then a thought crossed his mind.

 "Have you ever wondered how many times we have been told that all will be well? I am getting old, years keep passing, yet I keep hearing the same thing; 'all will be well'."

Bandia, looking to get into that line of thought, replied, "It seems this wellness is a distant dream."

"I hate faith and religion. 'All will be well' is what they keep saying. They make us wait for imaginary things that we die without witnessing. 

 "Gospel music doesn't motivate me any more. I better listen to reggae. It relates to our situation. 

 "Even prayer is worthless. I used to pray consistently every morning. Can you recall that church Caro and I joined where people pray while shouting at the top of their lungs? I had to go through all that embarrassment to seek redemption. How many years yet misery does not end? and it's not me alone. Nearly everybody prays, but how many get pity from the Almighty? It's misery all over."

Bandia laughed again sympathetically and responded, "You have passed through a lot and seen many things at your tender age. You surprised us when we heard all those drums and noise coming from your house in the name of prayer. I even thought you had joined Legion Maria. For a moment, we thought we'd lost you. These women you people marry, and the things they bring into your life. They make me pity married men." 

Then Bandia got serious and philosophical, "I don't think God exists. Religion is just an invention of early man to give people hope since hopeless lives are meaningless. Many people pray to God regularly and still die poor. Look at those troubled men, women, and children of Syria living under bombs and air strikes daily. They pray to God for peace, harmony, and prosperity. But what happens to them? Painful death stares at them like a snare. 

 "If God existed, this world would be a better place. There would be love, peace, harmony, and prosperity. These are the things most people seek from God. Unfortunately, they die without receiving them. God does not exist. If he does exist, then he is a different being from the one religions describes."

"True," Chwa agreed. 

 "Have you ever prayed so much for a breakthrough that you even start arguing with God? If God existed and was as robust and benevolent as most people claim, he surely would have listened to our plea; the cries of little children in Syria; the refugees and migrants in Europe and America, and the poor in Africa and Asia. 

 "Moreover, this world is significantly skewed to injustice. Sinners live well, yet people claim God exists. 

 "God is an illusion created by men who failed to trace their origin in an attempt to explain their unexplainable existence."

 "Yeah," Bandia agreed. They rose and started strolling towards the gate. Bandia then changed the course of the conversation.

 "Did you bet on Chelsea to win?"